


Castle Winchester

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12 Days of Wincestmas, Brotherly Love, Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Good Big Brother Dean, Non-sexual, Pre-Slash, Weechesters, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Eve, 1990. Sammy's driving him nuts with the <i>normal</i> talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castle Winchester

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kissmebloody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmebloody/gifts).



> Final installment for 12 Days of Wincest 2015. It's been a joy and a privilege to write for you. Merry everything, my darling!

**Christmas Eve, 1990**

Sammy’s driving him nuts with the _normal_ talk.

Like, “Why can’t we put up a tree,” and

“How come we don’t go to Midnight Mass,” and

“Can’t we at least hang up stockings?”

And it always ends with, “like a normal family?”

Urgh!

Tomorrow’s Christmas. Local Walgreens has security cameras and Dean’s holding onto the last of their cash for a Boston Market dinner. Dad’s on his way, but it’s snowing like crazy so no telling when he’ll get in.

“C’mon, squirt.” Dean slaps at the back of Sam’s head. “Put your coat on. Gloves too.”

“Why?”

“’Cause we’re gonna go do normal stuff. Shut up.”

At the end of the street, a vacant lot with a tire swing passes for a park.

“What’re we doing here?”

Dean drops to his knees and starts gathering snow.

“A snowman?” Sam sniffs. “And _I'm_ the girl?”

“Snowman? Pft. That’s for civvies. We’re gonna build a snow _fort._ ”

Sam tries for unimpressed but his lips twitch. Dean hides his answering grin.

“C’mon, bitch. Get to work. Or else you’ll be out in the cold when the enemy siege gets here.”

Eye roll. “Jerk.” But he starts packing bricks.

Their snow pile’s just turning into a wall when a lady shows up with two boys, bundled up like that kid in _A Christmas Story_. Mom, Dean guesses, looks tired, her coat thin and worn. She doesn’t have gloves.

“Hey. Whatcha guys doin’?” asks the older one, maybe Sam’s age.

Mom watches, tight-shoulders and sideways eyes.

“Buildin’ a fort,” Sam says.

“Can we help?”

“Nuh-uh,” Dean answers. “This here’s Castle Winchester.”

Mom opens her mouth.

“How ’bout you guys set up base over there?” He cocks an eyebrow, grins at the kid. “Name’s Dean.” He winks at Mom, gets an exhaled smile.

“Cody.” He beams. “My little sister here is Trevor.”

This kid ain’t so bad.

Trevor shoves him. “Buttface.”

“Dillhole.”

“Language, guys.” Mom blows between chapped hands. Tucks them up inside her sleeves and down into her pockets. Clears a bench with a booted foot.

Snow falls, walls climb, and eventually him and Sam have a pretty sweet set-up going. Three feet or so of cover, three sides, wicked supply of snowballs. The other kids aren’t too far behind. Dean’s got snow up his sleeves and down his boots. His gloves are soaked. But Sam’s pink nose and secret smiles would make frostbite worth it.

Armed and fortified, they come up with a game. Make battle flags out of sticks and Cody’s scarf and Dean’s bandana. One guy attacks, one guy defends. “And if you get hit you gotta go back to base,” Sam says.

Everybody’s in.

Trevor pops out from behind the enemy fort. “Cover me,” Sam says and Dean’s got no idea what that means but the kid’s tearing off across the battlefield before he can ask. So he just starts launching snowballs, figures he might rattle Cody with an all-out assault but he’s gotta keep an eye on Trevor, who’s shadowing Sam, trying to use him for cover.

Which totally backfires when Cody nails his brother square in the back. Which in turn demands a conference to decide on friendly fire rules. Which leads to Trevor getting sent back to base, and Sam getting pelted full in the face as he dives for the flag.

Back and forth. Barrage of snowballs. Couple of close ones on both sides and then it’s a race to see who can roll fresh ammo faster.

Dean spins and jukes. Cody comes in fast but Sam clocks him before he’s covered half the distance. Center mass. Dean’s so busy being proud of Sam he lets Trevor wing him. He cusses, shoots a sheepish look at Mom and retreats.

Sam’s off like a shot. Sloppy snowballs coming at him, falling apart, falling short. All at once he hits the ground and tumbles.

“Sammy! You okay?”

He pops back up and snatches the enemy flag. Crows, “Ha-ha!”

Cody and Trevor stare. Little turd outsmarted them all.

Laughs and back slaps and Mom says it’s time to go. They say goodbye and Merry Christmas, and Sam doesn’t even sulk about two more friends who could have been.

“Those guys were cool,” is all he says as they walk back to their motel.

“Yeah. They were all right."

They smack snow off each other, kick the wall to clear their boots, pile into the warmth of their room. Rub tingling hands above the heater, wipe runny noses on their sleeves. Knock shoulders and elbows and hassle each other. Grin.

Dean cuts up the last of the hot dogs into the last box of mac and cheese. It’ll be okay. He can buy enough dinner tomorrow to last them three days if they watch it. And there’s still almost a whole box of Lucky Charms left.

Sam looks at him kinda dopey. Dean kicks his shin under the table.

He finds _Die Hard_ on TV. They crawl in their beds. The movie ends and Dean’s almost asleep when —

“Dean?”

“Yo.”

“Thank you, for today.”

“Aw, c’mon, man.”

“I mean it!”

“Yeah…” He rolls onto his back. Studies a ceiling stain. “’M sorry I couldn’t swing you a tree. Or good presents — ”

Sam claps a hand over Dean’s mouth. Sneaky little snot. He looks down, Linus-in- _The-Great-Pumpkin_ sincere.

Dean moves the hand aside. “’M sorry I couldn’t pull off normal.”

Sam sets his chin. “Yeah, well. Fuck normal.”

“Sammy!”

“For real. Like, those other kids. They’ve _got_ normal, but — ” Sam kind of pets at Dean’s jaw. Dean squeezes his wrist. “They don’t have what we’ve got, right?”

Dean’s eyes try to fill with tears, the traitors. “Aw, Sam.” He swallows. “You should write for Hallmark.”

Sam snatches his hand back.

“Or Lifetime.”

“You’re a jerk.” He stalks to his bed. Flips the covers dramatically.

Dean waits while his brother gets snuggled in, still huffing. “Sam?”

“What.”

“Merry Christmas.”


End file.
